MONDAY, Feb. 26, 1872.
Dear girls, wouldn't you like to get into that little white yacht that
lies dancing and courtesying on the blue waters of the St. John's this
pleasant Monday morning?
It is a day of days. Spring has come down with all her smiles and roses
in one hour. The great blue sheet of water shimmers and glitters like so
much liquid _lapis lazuli_; and now the word comes in from our
neighbor, the owner of the pleasure-yacht, "Wouldn't you like to go
sailing?"
Of course we should! That is exactly what we _do_ want. And forthwith
there is a running and a mustering of the clans, and a flapping of broad
palmetto-hats; and parties from all the three houses file down, and
present themselves as candidates for pleasure. A great basket of oranges
is hoisted in, and the white sails spread; and with "Youth at the prow,
and Pleasure at the helm," away we go, the breezes blowing manfully at
our sails. The river is about five miles from shore to shore, and we
have known it of old for a most enticing and tricksy customer. It gently
wooes and seduces you; it starts you out with all manner of zephyrs,
until you get into the very middle, two miles from land on either side,
when down goes your limp sail, and the breeze is off on some other
errand, and you are left to your reflections. Not immediately did this
happen to us, however; though, when we came to the middle of the river,
our course was slow enough to give plenty of opportunity to discuss the
basket of oranges. We settle it among us that we will cross to Doctor's
Lake. This name is given to a wide bayou which the river makes, running
up into the forest for a track of about nine miles. It is a famous
fishing and hunting region, and a favorite and chosen abode of the
alligators. At the farther end of it are said to be swamps where they
have their lairs, and lay their eggs, and hatch out charming young
alligators. Just at the opening where the river puts into this lake are
the nets of the shad-fishers, who supply the Jacksonville market with
that delicious article. We are minded to go over and fill our
provision-baskets before they go.
Now we near the opposite shore of the river. We see the great tuft of
Spanish oaks which marks the house of the old Macintosh plantation, once
the palmiest in Florida. This demesne had nine thousand acres of land,
including in it the Doctor's Lake and the islands therein, with all the
store of swamps and forests and alligators' nests, wild-orange groves,
and palmetto-jungles. It was a sort of pride of territory that animated
these old aboriginal planters; for, of the whole nine thousand acres
which formed the estate, only about five hundred ever were cleared, and
subject to cultivation. One of these days we are projecting to spend a
day picnicking on this old plantation, now deserted and decaying; and
then we can tell you many curious things in its history. But now we are
coming close alongside the shad-nets. We find no fishermen to traffic
with. Discerning a rude hut on the opposite side of the bayou, we make
for that, expecting there to find them. We hail a boy who lies idly in a
boat by the shore.
"Halloo, my fine fellow! Can you tell us where the people are that tend
that net?"
"Don't know," is the reply that comes over the water.
"Can you sell us any fish?"
"Got a couple o' trout."
"Bring 'em along." And away we go, rippling before the breeze; while the
boy, with the graceful deliberation which marks the movements of the
native population, prepares to come after us.
"I don't believe he understood," said one.
"Oh, yes! He's only taking his time, as they all do down here. He'll be
along in the course of the forenoon."
At last he comes alongside, and shows a couple of great black-looking,
goggle-eyed fish, which look more like incipient cod or haddock than
trout. Such as they are, however, we conclude a bargain for them; and
away goes our boy with fifty cents in his pocket. What he can want of
fifty cents in a hut on the other side of Doctor's Lake is a question.
Can he trade with alligators? But he has a boat; and we foresee that
that boat will make a voyage across to the grocery on the opposite
point, where whiskey, pork, and flour are sold. Meanwhile we looked at
the little rude hut again. It was Monday morning; and a string of
clothes was fluttering on a line, and a good many little garments among
them. There is a mother, then, and a family of children growing up. We
noticed the sheen of three or four orange-trees, probably wild ones,
about the house. Now we go rippling up the bayou, close along by the
shore. The land is swampy, and the forests glister with the shining,
varnished leaves of the magnolias; and we saw far within the waving
green fans of the swamp-palmetto. The gum-trees and water-oaks were just
bursting into leaf with that dazzling green of early spring which is
almost metallic in brilliancy. The maples were throwing out blood-red
keys,--larger and higher-colored than the maples of the North. There is
a whir of wings; and along the opposite shore of the bayou the
wild-ducks file in long platoons. Now and then a water-turkey, with his
long neck and legs, varies the scene. There swoops down a fish-hawk; and
we see him bearing aloft a silvery fish, wriggling and twisting in his
grasp. We were struck with the similarity of our tastes. He was fond of
shad: so were we. He had a wriggling fish in his claws; and we had a
couple flapping and bouncing in the basket, over which we were gloating.
There was but one point of difference. He, undoubtedly, would eat his
fish raw; whereas we were planning to have ours cut in slices, and fried
with salt pork. Otherwise the fish-hawk and we were out on the same
errand, with the same results.
Yet at first view, I must confess, when we saw him rise with a wriggling
fish in his claws, he struck us as a monster. It seemed a savage
proceeding, and we pitied the struggling fish, while ours were yet
flapping in the basket. This eating-business is far from pleasant to
contemplate. Every thing seems to be in for it. It is "catch who catch
can" through all the animal kingdom till it comes up to man; and he eats
the whole, choosing or refusing as suits his taste. One wonders why
there was not a superior order of beings made to eat us. Mosquitoes and
black-flies get now and then a nip, to be sure; but there is nobody
provided to make a square meal of us, as we do on a wild turkey, for
example. But speaking of eating, and discussing fried fish and salt
pork, aroused harrowing reflections in our company. We found ourselves
at one o'clock in the middle of Doctor's Lake, with the dinner-shore at
least five miles away; and it was agreed, _nem. con._, that it was time
to put about. The fish-hawk had suggested dinner-time.
And now came the beauty of the proceeding. We drove merrily out of
Doctors Lake into the beautiful blue middle of the St. John's: and there
the zephyrs gayly whispered, "Good-by, friends; and, when you get
ashore, let us know." The river was like a molten looking-glass, the sun
staring steadfastly down. There is nothing for it but to get out the
oars, and pull strong and steady; and so we do. It is the old trick of
this St. John's, whereby muscular development is promoted. First two
gentlemen row; then a lady takes one oar, and we work our way along to
the shore; but it is full four o'clock before we get there.
As we approach, we pass brisk little nine-year-old Daisy, who is out
alone in her boat, with her doll-carriage and doll. She has been rowing
down to make a morning call on Bessie, and is now returning. Off on the
end of the wharf we see the whole family watching for our return. The
Professor's white beard and red fez cap make a striking point in the
tableau. Our little friend Bob, and even baby and mamma, are on the
point of observation. It is past four o'clock, dinner long over; and
they have all been wondering what has got us. We walk straight up to the
house, with but one idea,--dinner. We cease to blame the fish-hawk,
being in a condition fully to enter into his feelings: a little more,
and we could eat fish as he does,--without roasting. Doubtless he and
Mrs. Fish-hawk, and the little Fish-hawks, may have been discussing us
over their savory meal; but we find little to say till dinner is
despatched.
The last hour on board the boat had been devoted to a course of
reflections on our folly in starting out without luncheon, and to
planning a more advised excursion up Julington Creek with all the
proper paraphernalia; viz., a kerosene-stove for making coffee, an
embankment of ham-sandwiches, diversified with cakes, crackers, and
cheese. This, it is understood, is to come off to-morrow morning.
_Tuesday Morning_, Feb. 27.--Such was to have been my programme; but,
alas! this morning, though the day rose bright and clear, there was not
a breath of wind. The river has looked all day like a sheet of glass.
There is a drowsy, hazy calm over every thing. All our windows and doors
are open; and every sound seems to be ringingly distinct. The chatter
and laughing of the children, (God bless 'em!) who are all day long
frolicking on the end of the wharf, or rowing about in the boats; the
leisurely chip, chip, of the men who are busy in mending the steamboat
wharf; the hammer of the carpenters on the yet unfinished part of our
neighbor's house; the scream of the jays in the orange-trees,--all
blend in a sort of dreamy indistinctness.
To-day is one of the two red-letter days of our week,--the day of the
arrival of the mail. You who have a driblet two or three times a day
from the mail cannot conceive the interest that gathers around these two
weekly arrivals. The whole forenoon is taken up with it. We sit on the
veranda, and watch the mail-boat far down the river,--a mere white speck
as she passes through the wooded opening above Jacksonville. She grows
larger and larger as she comes sailing up like a great white stately
swan, first on the farther side of the river till she comes to Reed's
Landing; and then, turning her white breast full toward Mandarin Wharf,
she comes ploughing across, freighted with all our hopes and fears. Then
follows the rush for our mail; then the distribution: after which all
depart to their several apartments with their letters. Then follow
readings to each other, general tidings and greetings; and when the
letters are all read twice over, and thoroughly discussed, come the
papers. Tuesday is "The Christian Union" day, as well as the day for
about a dozen other papers; and the Professor is seen henceforward with
bursting pockets, like a very large carnation bursting its calyx. He is
a walking mass of papers.
The afternoon has been devoted to reflection, gossiping, and various
expeditions. B. and G. have gone boating with Mr. ----; and come home,
on the edge of the evening, with the animating news that they have seen
the two first alligators of the season. That shows that warm weather is
to be expected; for your alligator is a delicate beast, and never comes
out when there is the least danger of catching cold. Another party have
been driving "Fly" through the woods to Julington Creek, and come back
reporting that they have seen an owl. The Professor gives report of
having seen two veritable wild-turkeys and a blue crane,--news which
touches us all tenderly; for we have as yet had not a turkey to our
festive board. We ourselves have been having a quiet game of croquet out
under the orange-trees, playing till we could see the wickets no longer.
So goes our day,--breezy, open-aired, and full of variety. Your world,
Mr. Union, is seen in perspective, far off and hazy, like the opposite
shores of the river. Nevertheless, this is the place to _read_ papers
and books; for every thing that sweeps into this quiet bay is long and
quietly considered. We shall have something anon to say as to how you
all look in the blue perspective of distance.
Meanwhile, we must tell the girls that Phoebus has wholly accommodated
himself to his situation, and wakes us, mornings, with his singing.
"What cheer! what cheer!" he says. Whether he alludes to the four cats,
or to his large cage, or to his own internal determination, like Mark
Tapley, to be jolly, isn't evident.
Last week, Aunt Katy brought a mate for him, which was christened Luna.
She was a pretty creature, smaller, less brilliant, but gracefully
shaped, and with a nice crest on her head. We regret to say that she
lived only a few hours, being found dead in the cage in the morning. A
day or two since, great sympathy was expressed for Phoebus, in view of
the matrimonial happiness of a pair of red-birds who came to survey our
yellow jessamine with a view to setting up housekeeping there. Would not
the view of freedom and wedded joys depress his spirits? Not a bit of
it. He is evidently cut out for a jolly bachelor; and, as long as he has
fine chambers and a plenty of rough rice, what cares he for family life?
The heartless fellow piped up, "What cheer! what cheer!" the very day
that he got his cage to himself. Is this peculiar? A lady at our table
has stated it as a universal fact, that, as soon as a man's wife dies,
he immediately gets a new suit of clothes. Well, why shouldn't he?
Nothing conduces more to cheerfulness. On the whole, we think Phoebus
is a pattern bird.
P. S.--Ask the author of "My Summer in a Garden" if he can't condense
his account of "Calvin's" virtues into a tract, to be distributed among
our cats. Peter is such a hardened sinner, a little Calvinism might
operate well on him.
[Illustration]